


A Penny For The Old Guy

by NewPipBoyWhoDis



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: A Bender You Will Never Forget, Badass Mother Fucker, Blood and Violence, Dance Really Talks A Lot Tho, Drug Use, Drunk Sex, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, Gun Violence, IDFWU, Lust at First Sight, Oh God Yes, Oral Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Revenge, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, True Love, You Have Been Warned, what a twist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-03 23:59:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10262027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewPipBoyWhoDis/pseuds/NewPipBoyWhoDis
Summary: When the Institute destroyed the Brotherhood, Danse's former life as a by the book Paladin was all but obliterated. He had no reason to go on - until he met her.Nova is a Jet-dealing gunslinger with a heart of gold. She answers to no one - especially a certain former Paladin who constantly insists she watch her six and complains about her impulsive attitude. She had no intention of roaming the Commonwealth with an uptight soldier. Let alone falling for the big tin can and working with him fight the Institute.He is the rising sun. She is the wildest night. Together, they can make one last stand for the Commonwealth, for freedom, for themselves. They can make one last stand of finding love in an unforgiving world.





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> Is my title a reference to the Hollow Men? Yes. Yes it is. Again, I am diverting from the canon storyline and heading into something completely different. I know when you side with the Rail Road and destroy the Brotherhood Danse pretty much ignores you. I wondered how he would feel if Sole sided with the Institute. So, I'm exploring that idea. I hope you enjoy!! And always feedback is appreciated.

_My modus operandi is amalgam_  
_Steel packed tight in microchip_  
_On my armor a sign of all-pro_  
_The ultimate reward is honor, not awards_  
_At odds with the times in wards with no lords_  
-

Battlecry, Nujabes

  
  
  
I don't believe in a higher power.

 I mean, yeah. Sure. There is the all-powerful Institute beneath the CIT ruins that could bring about the end of days. And it's filled with synths that have unchecked, godlike abilities, carrying out their stereotypical sinister motives: domination, total control, kidnapping, etc. So, that by definition could be a considered higher power. You win again, Institute. 

However, I'm not talking about tangible fist fighting, laser shooting, gun-slinging shenanigans that are a constant threat to my very life. I'm talking about an underlying spiritual force. Something that pulls the universe together and sets in motion all events—no matter how benign—for one, undeniable purpose. A cosmic divinity that summons us to a higher calling.

Fate.  
Destiny.

I don’t buy into it for the very same reason I don’t buy Robotech products: it’s too much power for one person to yield, and once you break it, you can’t undo it. It’s too convenient and fragile at once.

The point is, I don't believe it was fate raiders nearly murdered me on that unassuming, hot afternoon. Destiny did not guide me to the bunker where Danse hid himself from the world. A being higher than myself did bring us together for a purpose I was always meant to fulfill—to save the Commonwealth, or whatever.

It was all actually just a really dumb sequence of occurrences orchestrated by the nothing more than the absurdity of life in the Commonwealth. And Jet. Probably, the Jet had a lot to do with it if I’m being honest.

To be fair to the raiders my prices weren’t exactly reasonable. Okay, they were exuberant. Okay, fine, I was ripping them off shamelessly trying to sell them mostly fake Jet. Should I have predicted they would test it? Yes. Yes I should have. Was I now going to die for my stupid mistake? Also yes. Did I regret my life choices? Another sound yes. I really do. Man, I’m _nailing_ this life quiz.

Now, the merry band of troublemakers in their ridiculous rusted armor was determined to put my head on a spike. All for the fucking Jet. Personally, I didn’t think my face would make the best decoration, not as fierce as a Yao Gai or Death Claw, but the raiders didn’t seem to mind. For two days I had been on the run from these bastards and I had to hand it to them – they did not want to give up. They must really love their Jet. Or revenge.   
  
On the second day—which I refuse to acknowledge as fateful—that’s when I stumbled across the bunker.

I rested outside the door to check the gun wound gnawing at my hip. Although I managed to dig the bullet out earlier I knew the radiation exposure slowly infected the skin. Plus, I was losing . . . what appeared to be an incredible amount of blood. Prognosis? _Thoroughly fucked_.

Three miles separated me from the raiders, and frankly, I wasn’t the one hyped up on Psycho, raging through the Wasteland to get my hands on more drugs. Hiding in the bunker was my only option if I was going to live – at least for a few more hours. If I had known I would find a depressed former Brotherhood of Steel defector I may have passed on a few extra hours of life. Alas, I unwittingly entered the bunker and rode the elevator down into the depressingly cramped hiding place. 

I immediately recognized someone had been living in that metal hovel. Bottles of nuka cola and pork n’ beans littered the floor. There was a small arsenal inside an army bag with a shit ton of ammo and a few items of clothing. Definitely currently occupied. All that remained was the _who_ and _why_. It would have been easy enough to grab as much gear as possible and get the hell out of there. And had my body not betrayed me I would have taken everything I could carry and run. Instead, I grabbed a bottle of vodka and braced myself for the searing pain as the alcohol cleansed my wound. The pursuing agony was the tipping point. All strength abandoned me and I fell into darkness.

* * *

 

For a moment Danse considered killing the intruder on sight.

He had left for a few hours to scavenge for food and returned to find the girl slumped against the wall near his supplies. A hideous wound gaped from her hip and she held a bottle of vodka in her hand. Clearly, she had come into the bunker to attend to the foul lesion. He didn’t know if he wanted to put her out of her misery or defend his territory. She was a tiny thing, with matted blonde hair and a face smeared with dirt. Like many in the Commonwealth her clothes had seen much better days, ragged and filthy. He checked the wound. The radiation had infected the skin on the outside but the laceration didn’t appear to be bleeding. The flesh would have to be burned off, however. The soldier in him screamed to wake her up, interrogate her, send her on her way or kill her. Instead, he gently lifted the intruder onto the table and proceeded to bandage the gun wound. He sat down next to the terminal and waited.  
  
A few raiders had attempted coming down to the bunker to steal his things. He didn’t enjoy putting them down but over time fewer dared to venture inside. Apparently, they had gotten the message the person living down in his bunker didn't take kindly to thieves. This, however, seemed to be a different case entirely. This girl clearly was seeking refuge. She hadn’t stolen anything. She had taken the risk to hole up in the bunker despite not knowing who lived down here. The question that remained was _who_ and _why._

An hour later the girl’s eyes fluttered opened. Slowly, she eased herself up on her elbows, peering around as if trying to remember where she was. She pressed her hand against the wound wincing at the pain. Danse got her attention by pointing his laser rifle at her chest. The girl scooted her back against the wall and put her hands in the air. 

“Before you kill me there’s something you should know,” she said hastily. Danse waited with his finger on the trigger. When she was sure he would not shoot her—yet, at least—the girl proceeded to talk. “There’s a band of raiders following me. They’ll be here, soon. And they’ll probably search this place for me. So. You should probably prepare yourself for that. There are six of them, I think? Most of these guys are just armed with pipe pistols but the leader—at least the one I think is the leader—has a real nasty rifle. He’s a pretty decent shot. Obviously.” 

Danse made no immediate response. The girl was clearly terrified although she was making an effort to hide her fear. “I know this looks bad,” she finally continued. “I don’t blame you for wanting to protect your stuff. But . . . either way it seems this is the end of the road for me. I mean, even if you don’t kill me and you throw me out me back out there. . . I’m not gonna make it. So, please decide quickly how I’m going to die. I’d appreciate it.”

Her final words struck a chord deep within Danse. He quietly lowered his gun. The girl gazed at him warily placing one of her hands back over her wound. She trembled like a leaf, pale and scared.  
  
“Why do they want to kill you?” Danse asked. 

The girl laughed mirthlessly. “I’m a Jet dealer, and well – I kind of tried to screw them out of a deal. And yeah. I see that look and I know I deserve your judgment. It’s not like I’m proud of what I do. But not all of us could settle down as farmers or join the Brotherhood.”

She sighed heavily, closing her eyes and resting her head against the wall. He watched the pain spread across her face. Danse couldn’t tell if it was due to her admission or the gun wound. _She believes she’s going to die down here,_ he thought. _This is her confession._

He made up his mind.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he said. “First, I’m going to set up some torrents around the perimeter of the bunker. I also have some plasma mines I’ve been saving for entirely different circumstances but well—I guess now I won’t be needing those anymore. When I come back, we’re going to have to burn part of the flesh around that wound. It’s not going to be pleasant but it’s already infected. Even a Stimpack won’t be able to heal it properly at this point. If the intel you gave me is true I have enough ammunition to take care of a few raiders if they can manage to get past any defenses.”

“Why are you doing this?” she asked. Her voice carried nothing short of pure shock.

Danse didn’t reply. He didn’t have an answer other than a long time ago he met someone who taught him how to help the Commonwealth, to be good to others, to help those in need—even if they were Jet-dealing lowlifes. Someone he thought he could trust with his life. 

As Danse gathered his supplies for the torrent the girl spoke up again. “Wait. There are two more things you should know,” she struggled to sit up properly obviously trying to look stronger than she felt. “My name is Nova. And I’m going to help you fight those raiders should the moment arise. I can’t let you do this alone. Not for me.”

He stared at her. She didn’t look like the type of girl who could take on a band of raiders—especially in her state. But the soldier had been deceived by appearances before.  
  
“You'll call me Paladin Danse,” he responded gruffly. “And I'll decide if you help with those raiders."

 


	2. I Swear I Wish Somebody Would Dare Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, fellow readers. Thank you so much for the wonderful response to this story. I have soooo many ideas clamoring around the old noggin for this one and I am excited to share them all with you!
> 
> It came to my attention that Nova's name is a) one letter difference from Nora and b) the name of a prostitute in fallout 3. Believe it or not this was all coincidence. 
> 
> My bad you guys. My bad.
> 
> Anyway, I LIVE for comments so if you give me critiques or generally speak your mind how much you like/dislike it I'd be thrilled to hear from you. I'd especially like to know if I'm capturing Danse's character correctly? He's kind of a tough nut to crack but I wanna capture him as accurately as possible.
> 
> You can probably expect updates on Thursdays but as life happens they might be inconsistent. Flexibility is the hallmark of good mental health, you guys.

I know I shouldn’t complain.

I _should_ be dead—very dead, with my head mounted proudly on some spike for all the cute little children to stare at in mild curiosity. I should be grateful for the strange BOS soldier who for some inexplicable reason _will not_ take his power armor off. I should have been taking every measure necessary to gain my strength back so I could get the hell out of there before he changed his mind and killed me.  
  
And yet, there I was, cowering in a corner while _Paladin_ (do not forget the Paladin) Danse glared at me with such pure and concentrated contempt his eyes might as well have been a laser rifle.

“I’ve already told you if we don’t cauterize the infected tissue around your wound it’s going to spread.”  
  
“Excuse me if I’m not thrilled with the prospect of being set on fire,” I snapped back. “Maybe if I did another shot of whiskey . . .”  
  
“You drank _all_ the whiskey,” he shouted. “All of it. And then you threw up. So I don’t think getting inebriated is going to help the situation you’ve gotten yourself into. Now, you can stand still with some goddamn dignity and let me _help_ you or – damn it all do it yourself. It’s your choice.”  
  
There was a brief moment of silence between us. I didn’t blame him for being annoyed but mother of all mirelurks. Did he have to be such an _asshole_? I looked down at the red, angry laceration. Pus oozed from the granulated yellow flesh surrounding the outside of the wound, emitting an almost a sweet smell. He was absolutely right. I was going to die if I continued to let this thing fester. A slow, gross, painful death in this sad bunker that reeked of loneliness. But . . . even after all his help I didn’t trust Danse—sorry I forgot again _Paladin_ Danse. Something about his seeming lack of emotion kept me on edge. He had been living—if that’s what you could call it—in a cramped listening post for God knows how long. What does that do to a person’s head? And why is he here to begin with? After the explosion I assumed the Brotherhood survivors fled back to the Citadel. If there were survivors. What was his purpose for staying?  
  
And, I cannot stress this part enough; he intended to kill me when I woke up. I don’t know how I changed his mind. I’m not even sure if I really did. The gesture of distrust on his part was not exactly a vote of confidence for, you know, letting him light part of my skin on fire. My options were painfully limited . . . and so was my time.  
  
“Fine. Hand me the lighter,” I demanded reaching my hand out to him.  
  
Paladin Danse hesitated. “If you do this incorrectly the ensuing burn could cause further damage to your skin. Worse damage.”

“Just give me the damn thing, please.”  
  
He gently placed the lighter in my palm. It was gold, shiny—obviously kept it pristine condition—with small initials etched into the side: _AM._ Interesting. He had his own custom lighter. It was a much-needed distraction before I performed the horrible operation on myself.  
  
I took a deep breath and brought the gold lighter close to where the infection coagulated in a yellowish glob. “You sure you don’t have any of the whiskey left?” I laughed.

“I don’t think it would be wise to drink while you perform a medical operation on yourself,” he responded flatly. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Nope,” I replied and flicked the lighter on.

For the first three seconds I gritted my teeth, stubbornly resisting the urge to cry out, but the agony manifested itself into a scream as I continued to burn the surrounding tissue. I somehow managed to keep my hand steady, focusing only on the infected area, trying not to burn inside the wound or any skin that hadn’t been affected. When the infection had been thoroughly scorched off I threw the lighter across the room and doubled over in agony, tears pouring down my face. For the first time Danse exited his power armor and immediately rushed to my aid with a Stimpack.

“Take this,” he commanded calmly, pressing the needle outside the wound. The medicine soothed the burning, but the initial shock had not worn off. I found myself leaning against him, face pressed against his sturdy chest, trying desperately to catch my breath.

It’s an odd thing, pain. At its rawest form, it will drive out all your senses and turn you into a person you don’t recognize. You become blind to your actions left only with a hazy sense of yourself. A moment ago, I expected Paladin Danse to straight up murder me. And while that still remained a distinct possibility I found myself clutching his arm for comfort. He didn’t resist. He allowed me to pull myself together in his embrace. After a few minutes I peeled myself away. Although the pain was still excruciating I hobbled over to his medical kit and redressed the wound with fresh gauze. Danse began to scour the floor. It took me a moment to realize he was looking for the lighter. When he found it he brought the shiny gold thing centimeters from his eyes, scrutinizing every detail.  
  
“Sorry about that,” I said. “It was in the heat of the moment.”  
  
I waited for an amused reaction. Instead he glared at me—the laser rifle glare. “You won’t be able to walk anywhere in the Commonwealth without that wound getting infected again,” he explained in his usual, direct tone. “I’ll let you stay here until you can go back to—wherever it is you came from.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, but the sentiment ran hollow. Truth be told I couldn’t wait to leave. I hated that I owed my life to the Paladin. I hated being stuck here in this bunker. I didn’t know when my luck would run out—and I needed it to last a little longer.

I sat down the cot and gently touched the gauze. I needed this wound to heal, soon. Hopefully, another Stimpack could expedite the process. I sighed, and warily gazed around the bunker. I don't see how anyone could have survived for this long down here with going mildly crazy. Out of the corner of my eye I saw it—the coffee pot. I glanced up at Danse. Maybe we couldn’t be best bunker buddies. But I could at least give him one more reason to keep alive while I healed.  
  
“Hey. When was the last time you had coffee?”

* * *

 

Danse watched as Nova carefully measured the coffee grounds with a scientist’s precision.

 “It’s all about the water to ground ratio,” she explained while making the fire to boil the liquid. “A lot of people get it wrong so they waste precious grounds. Which it’s so rare to actually find coffee now it’s shame to let any go to waste.”

Her attention to detail made sense to Danse given her current profession. Although, he had to admit, she didn’t have the strung out, manic look most Jet dealers sported. The girl was by no means healthy—she had the gaunt thinness of anyone who had struggled to survive in the Wasteland, face covered in dirt, her clothes sagging from her frame. Her eyes, though. They weren’t glazed over with hopelessness, the routine of the bare minimum of existences. Hers shown brightly, with a vibrant, keen intelligence. She wasn’t a fool.

 _If she had the training of a Brotherhood of Steel soldier she could have made something of herself,_ he thought. Like a soldier in unfamiliar territory, Nova constantly observed her surroundings, and it was not lost on Danse that the girl always knew where he was in relation to her. In a strange way, he admired her carefulness. She recognized her life could be in danger.  
  
So was his.  
  
A girl being chased by raiders didn’t exactly ensure security for his hideout. He didn’t know what kind of life Nova led out there in the Commonwealth what other enemies could be looking for her. He, too, had to be careful. _Don’t get attached. Just send her on her way._  
  
“Ok,” she announced proudly, pouring the brew into a cup. “Prepared to be amazed.”

Danse took a careful sip. _My God that is the best fucking coffee I’ve ever tasted_. Out loud he said, “That’s pretty good.”  
  
Nova pressed her lips together, disappointed. “I’ll accept pretty good,” she muttered.

She sat across from holding her own coffee although she did not drink it. Instead, she would look at him intently, and then glance away quickly as if she had seen something she wasn’t suppose to notice.

“You have questions,” Danse finally said.  
  
She pushed her hair back, which Danse interpreted as some kind of tick. “I have a lot of questions,” Nova said. “But mostly I wanted to say—I’m sorry.”  
  
Danse cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t need to apologize for staying here.”  
  
“That’s not it. I’m sorry for what happened to—to the Brotherhood.”

A sudden anger started rising under Danse’s skin. His whole body went rigid. Nova continued, “What the Institute did was unforgiveable. I don’t think I could imagine what you’re going through right now. I was wondering—and obviously you don’t have to answer—but are you waiting for soldiers who might have survived? Is that why you’re here? Do you have some kind of radio signal or—”  
  
“No,” Danse snarled. Nova’s eyes widened at his sudden shift in tone but he didn’t care. Fuck her. How dare she bring up what happened to the Prydwen. What happened to his fellow soldiers, his friends— _Maxson. Haylen._

 

 _The soldiers who wanted you dead._  
_Your fellow brothers and sister who died because of what you are._  
_Because of who you trusted._

 

What little levity remained in the atmosphere swiftly tensed. Danse poured the coffee on the ground. He stormed over to his power armor and stepped back inside.  
  
“I’m going to walk the perimeter and make sure your _friends_ haven’t shown up,” he said gruffly. “And you? You’ll be gone by morning. With a few Stimpacks you should at least make it to a settlement to continue healing.”

Nova stared at him, not in terror or hurt, but with an intense, frustrated anger. “Danse. . .”  
  
“Paladin Danse.”  
  
Nova sighed. “ _Paladin_ Danse you have to understand I’m just trying to figure out . . .”

“If I’m a threat?” He finished for her. “Smart. Let’s analyze that for a moment, shall we? From where I’m standing you’re the one who brought enemies to _my_ doorstep. You deal a drug that _ruins_ people’s lives. Keeping you here will _drain_ valuable resources that I need to survive. Meanwhile, I was the one who took you in and kept your safe. So tell me who is a threat.”

“Right,” Nova sighed standing up. She winced at the pain, but all the same grabbed her dufflebag and hoisted it on her shoulders. “Thanks for all the help. Really appreciate your selfless act.”

Danse refused to be baited. He watched as she shuffled to the elevator door. _You know she won’t make it. Not in her condition._  
  
She stepped inside the elevator. Danse could see the gears in her head turning. His instincts told him she was the kind of woman who always had the last word. She wasn’t going up to the surface without saying her peace.

On cue, she lifted her head eyes full of defiance. “Just so you know, the Brotherhood were some of my _best_ customers. Oh yeah. Those initiates of yours were nothing more than organized raiders who wanted to take a joy ride in some power armor and shoot down mutants. So don’t for a second think—”

Nova’s speech was cut short by the sudden battering of torrents and gunfire. Danse could hear shouts from the east and north side of the bunker. It was an ambush. Certainly more than just six men.   
  
“Shit,” Nova hissed, pressing the elevator button. Before Danse could protest or even stop her the doors shut with a polite ding.


	3. Didn’t They Tell You That I Was A Savage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. I want to get two things out of the way before we begin.
> 
> First: I know-I KNOW Nova is going to come off as something of a Mary-Sue in this chapter. Trust me. I get it. BUT homeslice has serious issues and they WILL be addressed. I just wanted to showcase early on her badassery with guns.
> 
> Second: Action scenes are really hard to write, you guys. 
> 
> Also, the end is a bit rushed because I wanted to get these characters OUT of the bunker and into the real world.
> 
> As always feel free to comment critique and otherwise ENJOY chapter three.

Nova’s life no longer concerned Danse as he loaded his laser rifle.

In his mind, her choice to recklessly engage the raiders absolved the Paladin of all responsibility. Not that he had a duty for her wellbeing in the first place. She came to his bunker for medical aid and got it. If she chose to throw her second chance away he clearly couldn’t stop her—and she clearly didn’t want to be stopped. Had this been a tactical team within the Brotherhood the protocol would be to follow direct orders. She would have to wait on him to strategize and then proceed accordingly. Instead, Nova gallivanted off on her own whim leaving Danse to enter the elevator and defend his bunker alone. 

 _Always alone._

When he exited onto the top floor he realized no one had entered the upper most part of the outpost. Nova’s duffle bag lay opened next to the desk. Inside, he saw a large stockpile of Jet along with a few items of clothing, one sniper, and ammo—rounds of 10mm, .44 and .45 ammunition. _She’s as good as dead._ He continued forward, listening. The torrents were no longer firing. _They must have bee compromised_. He had not heard the plasma mine go off yet, which either meant it had been disabled or the raiders were still far enough out to not set it off. Cautiously, he opened the door to the outside, and observed the terrain through his riflescope.

Immediately, he spotted Nova taking cover behind a tree with her pistol at the ready. Three raiders armed with shoddy pipe rifles slowly approached the bunker, which immediately struck Danse as odd. Raiders were not known for their discretion. Did the torrents scare them off? He moved his scope back to Nova. She was only a few yards away from the raiders, crouched and ready. As soon as they were parallel to her position she stood up.

What happened would become a drinking story Danse told whenever he had a couple of beers at the Dugout—a legend he gladly repeated when old war stories were swapped.  

He watched as Nova ran full speed toward the raiders firing her pistol. He had never in all his years in combat seen someone move and shoot with such accurate precision. It was like she was able to predict their shots and dodge accordingly, all the while aiming her gun directly at their heads—and effortlessly hit her target. The bullets left very little of their faces to be recognized. Within seconds the three raiders were lying on the ground and Nova was again hidden behind a tree, pressing her hand against the gauze that covered the bullet wound. Two more raiders approached from the east. Danse aimed to shoot—but the raider went down before he could pull the trigger. Again, Nova was firing her pistol, and within moments the other man was hit in the shoulder. Danse wondered if the pain had caused her to miss a kill shot until Nova began marching toward him. _She didn’t want him dead,_ he realized. He watched as Nova approached the wounded man. They seemed to briefly—heatedly—exchange a few words. With a cold dismissiveness Nova shot him in the head. She then doubled over clutching her hip in agony.

Danse found himself floored. He had worked with some of the best marksmen in the Wasteland. Hell, he had fought some guns for hire that gave him a run for his caps. He had gone head to head with Coursers designed to fight with flawless accuracy. But he had never witnessed anything so precise. . . so devastatingly ruthless.

 _Who the hell is this girl_?

Finally, Nova began staggering toward the bunker again, but fell down to her knees clutching the side of her hip. Apparently, whatever adrenaline fueled her to suppress the pain had worn off. Danse swore under his breath. It seemed no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t ignore his own sense of duty. Or—and he did not want to confess this to himself—he was drawn to her beyond obligation. There was something in what he witnessed that mesmerized the Paladin.

He walked toward Nova who received him with a wary smile. “Look who decided to join us.”  
  
“I planted a plasma mine just outside the bunker,” he said. “You could have gotten yourself killed.”  
  
“What nearly killed me were your stupid torrents. I had to disable them before I could start with those guys.”

Danse glanced at the man with the giant bullet hole in his head. “I take it you finished your business with your friends?”

Nova nodded, no longer having the energy to speak. Danse held out his hand. She hesitated, eyeing him with a deep—and he had to admit—earned suspicion.

“You can crawl your way through the Commonwealth if you want. However, I think you want your duffle bag.”

Nova rolled her eyes and took his hand. Gently, she managed to stand upright. She leaned on Danse as they gradually hobbled their way back to the bunker. _If she decides to be my ally she could be an asset,_ Danse found himself thinking as they entered the bunker. _If she is my enemy—I will most certainly die._

* * *

Danse assessed the wound carefully. “I don’t think any further damage has been caused. But you certainly shouldn’t strain yourself anymore.”

“Duly noted,” Nova sighed lying on the hard cot. Danse noticed she did bother pulling her pants back on. She splayed herself out, covered in sweat and breathing heavily. He found himself staring at her thighs and the triangular shape of her underwear between her legs. His eyes, somehow acting without his consent, moved upward. He could clearly make out the shape of her breasts through her thin shirt, rising and lowering with each labored breath. Had someone entered at that moment they might have assumed something entirely different had taken place. Danse shoved the thought away grabbing a Stimpack from the medical bag. Once more, he found himself playing doctor, gently easing the needle through the gauze.

“Are you sure you’re not wasting precious medical supplies?” Nova asked dryly. “You know. Because I’m such a threat.”

Danse sighed. _You are a threat. But for entirely different reasons than I suspected._

“I’m sorry for what I said,” he replied. “You brought up something . . .”

“No,” Nova interrupted. She sat up on her elbows and looked at him directly. “I shouldn’t have assumed anything. It wasn’t my place to ask. Clearly it’s a sensitive subject. It’s just—from the moment I’ve arrived you’ve gone from pointing a gun at my chest, to helping me heal my bullet wound, to essentially kicking me out to certain death, and now here we are again. So, I have to admit I don’t know if I can trust you to not kill me in the middle of the night.”

Danse studied her carefully. “The reason I’m here has nothing to do with the—with what happened to the Brotherhood,” he explained calmly. “That’s all I’m willing to say. Rest assured. I never had any intention of causing you harm. Now, I have a question for you.”

“And that would be?” Nova asked leaning back on the pillow.

“Where the hell did you learn to shoot like that? I’ve never seen anything like it—you were. . .I can’t even describe it.”

Nova inhaled deeply, closing her eyes. “I grew up in the Mojave,” she began. “I was raised in a pretty quiet town, actually. We survived better than most. One day this—this man rolled into town from nowhere. A mercenary. A _true_ killer. Death clung to him. You could just sense it—he was dangerous. He never hurt anyone in our town. But the residents were terrified when he entered the saloon or I dunno took a stroll. For some reason he and I took up together. He’s the one who taught me how to shoot a gun for the first time. How to really fight. I was thirteen at the time but he treated me no differently than any seasoned wastelander. For three years he and I stuck together. It was almost like we were partners.”  
  
A ghost of a smile crept on her lips as if she were savoring the memory. “He taught me the two most important lessons of my life. Never miss your shot. And unless you have unfinished business—always shoot to kill.”

“What happened to him?” Danse asked.

“He left. And eventually I came here.”

Danse didn’t press her for more, although it was abundantly clear that was not where the story ended. In fact, it was hardly any information at all. But it was all he could expect.

Nova drifted off to sleep. Apparently, whatever concern she had for her safety was trumped by sheer exhaustion. Danse exited his power armor and began cooking a meal.

He had lied to her, of course. He had contemplated killing her. But Nova remained and he hadn’t figured out why. She had proven herself to be more than dangerous. Perhaps the months he had spent in loneliness made him desperate for any companionship. Maybe the lessons instilled by his former friend were still buried deep underneath—even after the betrayal. Or it could be the glint in her eye as she discussed coffee, the pain in her voice as she described her life in the Mojave . . . or the shape of her breasts, full and low under the fabric. Again, Danse cast the thought out. It was late. He just needed sleep.

* * *

 

I knew waking a former member of the Brotherhood of Steel from slumber could be treacherous. And, as usual, I was right. After I poked him hard enough to wake him Danse lunged forward grabbing his gun.

“It’s just me,” I whispered holding my hands up. He breathed heavily, getting his bearings before he lowered his rifle.  
  
"Look,” I said urgently. “I need to hit the road. Now. I’m already late for something and well—my plans have been shot to hell. I have to regroup. Quickly. And I want you to come with me, Danse. I don’t know why you’re down here. I’m guessing whatever happened with you and the Brotherhood didn’t end well. It doesn’t matter. But whatever is keeping you in this bunker . . . it’s gonna drive you crazy. There’s nothing for you here. You must see that by now. And I need you. Yeah, I can shoot a gun like a motherfucker. But I don’t have the strength to take on another ambush like that right now. There were more raiders and they might come back for me. And what I have to do is a bit time sensitive. I have _nothing_ to offer you. No bottlecaps. Just a chance to get out of here and. . . maybe do some good. So what do you say?”

“What was that?” Dansed muttered, bleary eyed and disoriented.

I sighed. Heavily. “Do you want to leave this bunker with me?”  
  
He rubbed his eyes. “Give me fifteen minutes to pack my things.”


	4. I Can Be A Lone Wolf With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guuuuuyyyysss. 
> 
> Sorry this has been a long time coming!! I know I'm a bit behind but being in Grad school is crazy, people. Sheer maddness. Plus, to be honest, WAS NOT entirely sure how to move forward. But there is some serious momentum in this chapter, for sure. And a BIG REVEAL! WHEEEE. I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> As always comments are encouraged!! I will probably drop in every now and then to do some sweet, sweet grammatical edits.

Danse was a fucking gabber.

From the moment we left Listening Post Bravo, he had something to say about every shrub, rock, and tree we encountered. I don’t know if it was nervousness or his general disposition to never shut up. Perhaps, he was thankful to have another person to share his experiences with despite the lack of feedback. As I tried to navigate the unfamiliar territory he continued, against all reason, to talk to me about ‘The Brotherhood’s mission in the Commonwealth.’

“I remember when we first crossed the border,” he reminisced. “How different it was from the Citadel. There, it’s barren and empty. Somehow, it’s less sparse here—although the vegetation does contain high levels of radiation. In some ways I admire the Minutemen’s efforts to unite all the settlements under a single tribe. Still, their mission was misguided. Much like the NCR, they could never control the entirety of this area. They needed someone like the Brotherhood to restore order. But that’s not an option anymore . . .”  
  
Finally, I had enough. “You know what? We’re going to play the quiet game for a while. It’s when you put away your Brotherhood boner and shut the fuck up.”

Never in my life had seen a grown man look more wounded. It was like I kicked a defenseless puppy strapped in power armor.

I rubbed my head in exasperation. “Sorry. Ok? I’m _sorry_.” The terrain was harsh and indistinguishable. All the trees might as well been carbon copies of each other.  
  
“To be honest I’m a little lost,” I admitted. “And I can’t concentrate with you yam—with you talking.”

“Where exactly are we trying to go?” Paladin Danse asked. I noted the terseness in his tone. To his credit, however, he managed to wait for a response instead of bouldering forward with unwarranted commentary.

“Greentop Nursery. It’s a little settlement I stopped at before meeting with the raiders. My associates are waiting for me there. Or at least . . . I hope they are. Have you heard of it?”

“Yes,” he sighed gravely. “Greentop is three miles in the opposite direction of where we’ve been going.”  
  
I closed my eyes and breathed in. Slowly. 

“If you had shared this information with me sooner I might have been able to help you navigate,” Danse continued. “How long have you been in the Commonwealth? One of the first missions we were tasked with was to map out this area. We had a pretty good idea of where we were headed before we left. If you would let me take the lead—“

“Not helping, Danse,” I shouted, before turning around to walk another _three fucking miles._ When I realized he was not following me I threw my arms up in the air at him. “Well? Are you coming?”

“It’s not that way, either,” Danse said flatly.  
  
I almost tossed my duffle bag down in frustration. “Oh my God. Fine. Fine! You win. Take the lead. For the love of God. Please just get us there.”  
  
The Paladin shot me his laser rifle glare before directing us in a westward march. Resentfully, I followed closely behind. After a few moments of silent trudging, he said off handedly, “It’s Paladin Danse.”  
  
“Believe me,” I muttered. “I know.”

For almost another an hour he gifted our journey with silence. I felt a little bad for shutting him down. I couldn’t imagine being alone in a bunker with no one to talk to for so long. Especially after watching his entire life destroyed in an instant. Yet his story . . . it still made no sense to me. But, being a member of the Brotherhood, Paladin Danse might have the information I’d been looking for since I arrived in the Commonwealth.  
  
The question remained whether or not I could trust him. 

Apparently, Paladin Danse was not comfortable in silence. Or, he had lived in it for so long he was willing to risk another scathing remark from me to break it.

“Why did you ask me to come with you, Nova?”  
  
I was shocked he asked me such a personal question. For the past couple of hours it had been Brotherhood this, Ad Victorium that. But the line of inquiry made sense. I hadn’t been the nicest person to him since we left the Post. Maybe he was starting to get fed up with me. I could have easily deflected his question. But my mentor had always told me: _If you want trust—or information—sometimes you gotta give a little yourself._

I decided to give him the truth for better or for worse. “To be honest . . . my mom and dad serve in the Brotherhood. Or at least I think they do. Or . . did. I don’t know who they are. I tried to find them, once. But the Mojave chapter of the Brotherhood is a bit . . . isolationist. In any case, my associates and I decided to travel East for various reasons. I thought . . .once we made it to the Prydwen . . .”  
  
I stopped dead in my tracks. Until that point I hadn’t processed what the destruction of the Prydwen meant to me, personally. For the first time, I felt the finality of the event weight down like a gravestone resting on my chest. I tried to block out the blooming red explosion as we headed west from Diamond city that day. _It may have been the one chance I had of finding my family._

“I dealt Jet to some Initiates hoping to gain passage on board,” I finished. “I guess that will never happen now.”

I hadn’t realized Paladin Danse stopped walking as well until I felt his arm gently squeeze my shoulder. His eyes were filled with an all too familiar heartache I had encountered time and time again.

“It would seem we share the same loss,” he said. “Tell me, how do you know your parents were part of the Brotherhood of Steel?”

“I have my mother’s holotags and a holotape with a scrambled message from my father,” I explained. “I thought . . .perhaps you could help me identify them. I know it’s selfish. But. I came all this way. And you might be the last member of the Brotherhood in this area.”

“I’ll do my best. I promise.”

His face was earnest. Genuine. I knew, in that moment, he no longer meant to harm me. _Show him,_ my instincts all but screamed. _This might be your only chance._ I reached around my neck and pulled off my mother’s holotags. “Does this name mean anything to you?”  
  
All the blood drained from the Paladin’s face as he read the name on the holotags. A mixture of panic, confusion, and disbelief swept across his features all at once. Instinctively, I put my hand on my pistol. So maybe I was wrong. Maybe I had spelled out my own doom . . .

He looked at me, eyes wide. “You said these belonged to your mother?”

I nodded. My mouth was too dry to speak.

He sat down rubbing his forehead. It was as if the holotags had transported him to some place in time where I could not reach him. I wanted to demand what he knew, what the hell was happening, unholster my pistol and shoot him for answers. But it felt as though I had paralyzed. All I could do was watch him. My heart knew the answer before he opened his mouth.

“Your mother was Sarah Lyons. Leader of the Lyon’s Pride. And she’s. . .dead.”  
  
_________________________ 

At first, Danse couldn’t bring himself to look at Nova. In fact, he half expected for her to shoot him on the spot. He himself found the information impossible to believe. _Sarah had a secret child. This could have changed everything. But why did she not tell the Brotherhood? Why keep it a secret?_ His brain knew the answer. Even if his heart wasn’t willing to accept it. When the silence stretched for too long he mustered the courage to glance Nova’s way. He could see it now, of course. The same blonde hair, high cheekbones, even the arch of her brow. All but the eyes—but the eyes didn’t belong to a stranger, either.

“I’m sorry, Nova. But . . .she wasn’t on the Prydwen. She died about eight years ago.”

Nova stood rooted to the spot. Danse could see her fighting back the tears threatening to spill over.

“I came all this way . . .and now I have nothing.”

Danse stood and walked over to her. He placed his hand on the back of her neck. “That’s not at all true,” he said. “You’re part of the Brotherhood.”  
  
She fiercely jerked away from him. “Then why did she never come for me? Why was I left to rot in that town—to fend for myself with some mercenary?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Danse replied. “I don’t have the answers you’re looking for. But I know where you can find them. You have to go to the—”

“Citadel,” Nova finished for him. “Yeah. That’s where we decided to start going. Although, caps have been a bit of an on and off issue.” She looked up at his face. Suddenly, Danse felt the urge to protect her. Not that she needed it—not that she might even _want_ it anymore—but he knew he had to see this through.

He knew this was fate.

“How is your wound treating you?” he asked.

“I have two Stimpacks left,” Nova replied weakly. “Once we get to Greentop Nursery my associates should have more. Come on. We should . . . we should keep moving.” 

She repositioned her duffle bag onto her shoulders.

 _Just like Sarah would do,_ Danse thought with admiration. But he kept his this thought to himself. Instead he asked her, “Are we still playing the silent game?”

Nova snorted. “Can we compromise on music?”  
  
Danse smirked. He was still in shock that he was traveling with the daughter of Sarah Lyons. Since Maxson rose to power the Lyons name had fallen from grace. How would the Brotherhood react if the daughter of Sarah showed up at their doorstep? Would it have been a warm welcoming? Or . . . Paladin Danse shuddered at the alternative. 

_What would have happened if Nova Lyons was part of the Brotherhood? Would Elder Maxson have risen to Elder?_

_. . . is that why Sarah Lyons died?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Paladin Danse and Nova arrive in Greentop to meet Nova's 'associates.' Danse Danse Revolution gets a taste of Nova's rogue behavior and the team tries to come up with a plan to sell the rest of their Jet.
> 
> Hmmmm . . . anyone know someone who might LOVE Jet Ultra and perhaps would pay a high price for it?


	5. I Got To Do Things My Own Way Darling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, all the things happen in this story. All the things. I don't know when I'll be updating with grad school ending and all but I hope this will satiate you until then!! As always blessed are those who leave comments cause they make me happy.

“I take it Diamond City Radio doesn’t believe in variety,” Nova complained as they trudged through the Commonwealth thicket. Their progress to Greentop had been painfully slow. Paladin Danse knew the wound was proving to be more difficult than Nova had let on, despite what she had told him earlier. More than once he had caught her clutching her side and wincing at the pain as they hiked through the foliage. _At least the gauze will keep the radiation to a minimum,_ he thought. _Hopefully, the settlement might have some Rad-X._

“It does tend to get repetitive,” he replied, hoping small talk would keep her mind off the discomfort. “But we’re almost there. These—associates of yours. Who are they?”  
  
“Funny you should ask. Here comes one now.” 

Danse’s brow furrowed. He didn’t see anyone—but he heard rustling in the underbrush. Instinctively, the Paladin put his hand on the trigger of his laser rifle, tense and ready. A black and white border collie emerged from the thick bushes, smiling and wagging his tail. The dog breezed by Danse and rushed up to Nova with enough force to push her onto the ground. A deep pang ached in Danse’s chest as he watched the dog lovingly lick her face. It was an all too familiar scene . . .  
  
_A different dog. A different partner. A whole different life._

_One you created.  
One you destroyed. _

“What are you doing out here, Max?” Nova asked dryly, getting back on her feet. She had none of the warmth in her voice his former companion showed Dogmeat.

The dog sat with a proud shit-eating grin plastered on his face. Tucked in his collar was a piece of parchment which Nova took and began reading. Danse noticed a flicker of concern flash across her brow—the fainted furrow.

“Well? What does it say?” he asked anxiously.

Nova shrugged. “Nothing. I mean. Nothing to worry about. Everything appears fine.”  
  
Even Danse recognized she was lying through her teeth. Before Nova had time to react, he reached down and snatched the paper out of her hands.

It read: **Nova. YOU HAD ONE FUCKING JOB. If the raiders don’t kill you I will. Eight total. One has a missile launcher. They know you’re coming. Spotted you tramping around like a damn elephant. Dumbass.** **You better save us. So I can kill you, personally.**

Danse scowled at the paper, the dog, and then Nova. In response, she dropped her duffle bag to the ground and searched through the ammo. “Like I said. Everything appears pretty much as I anticipated.”  
  
“That’s not at all what you said,” Danse snapped irritably. “You said your business with these raiders was over. Why do you keep withholding information from me?” 

Nova loaded her revolver spinning it casually. “I’ll admit. It’s not ideal. But these guys shouldn’t be a problem.”  
  
“That doesn’t answer my question.” He used his most stern voice—the one reserved for initiates who stepped out of line and knights who refused to follow protocol.

Apparently, the foreboding tone still had authority. Nova looked up at him with revered guilt. “Fine,” she sighed. “I planned on going alone. Ok? I know I brought you along for backup because of . . . this fucking thing,” she pointed at her hip. “But I can’t have you getting hurt or killed because of my mistakes. I’m the one who tried to sell fake Jet to a bunch of crazed raiders. And now everyone else is paying for it. I’m not going to drag you into this mess as well.”  
  
“Honorable,” Danse commended. “But misguided. Foolish. And certainly a death sentence. Your strategy is a suicide mission for you _and_ your so-called associates. Furthermore, I don’t see how you were going to give me the slip. You’re wounded, and I’m wearing power armor. What was your plan to get away?”  
  
“I can . . .improvise,” Nova answered weakly.

“Improvisation, while sometimes necessary in dire situations, is a good way to get yourself killed in battle,” Danse lectured. He noticed the complete chagrin on Nova’s face, but his determination to teach her remained unaltered. Brotherhood ran in her veins. A gun for hire may have trained her but she didn’t have to act like one. Not as long as he was here.

“We need a strategy,” he continued. “It’s been a long time since I visited Greentop. What can you tell me about the settlement? How many settlers? Where are the homes positioned? How big is it?”  
  
“Well . . .” Nova thought for a long moment. “Uhm. It’s . . . a settlement and they grow tatos. So. Yeah.”  
  
Max whined and lay down on the ground. It was all Danse could do to not join him. 

* * *

 

Danse peered at the settlement through his riflescope. They were hidden deep in a thicket, far enough out of sight to remain undetected. “Four men guarding the perimeter. The one with the missile launcher is on the roof. Three must be inside with the settlers and your friends.”  
  
“And?” Nova snapped.

“Do you honestly think you could have done this on your own?”  
  
Her silence was answer enough. Danse continued to assess the situation. “There’s no getting around it—we have to take out the one with the missile launcher first if we’re were going to stand a chance of getting inside. I have a clear shot. However, I don’t know if the raiders inside will instantly kill your friends inside we start attacking immediately. Thoughts? . . . Nova?”

He peered down. Nova had vanished from his side. Danse swore under his breath and desperately looked around. She had move closer to the house under the cover of the thicket, with a sniper aimed at the raider on the roof.

_Fuck._

The shot hit the raider effortlessly in the head. Yet, Nova’s flawless aim meant nothing. As soon as the raider fell off the roof the other four spotted her and started shooting. Danse aimed his rifle shooting down two of the men. The survivors wildly swung their guns around trying to figure out where the laser had come from. A poor mistake. Nova took the opportunity to take down both of them before running into the house. Danse stood, and followed closely behind. _Sure. Now she’s able to run._ He barged through the front door—and into the middle of a standoff. Nova had her rifle pointed at a menacing raider who held a young woman by her neck with his arm. Two others stood on the top of the stairs, pipe pistols pointed at her.  
  
Danse assumed the one being held was Nova’s associate—a beautiful woman close to Nova’s age with smooth chestnut skin and textured, black hair flowing down her shoulders. Her eyes burned with a fierce anger directed at Nova. 

“Drop your weapons,” the man holding the girl demanded. “Or your little bitch gets it.”  
  
“Your originality is something to behold, Roy,” his captive sneered. 

Roy grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back; he pointed the tip of a knife at her neck. “Still got something to say?” 

“Let Ayo go,” Nova demanded. “She had very little to do with this.”  
  
Ayo’s eyes widened. “Very little? Oh no. _No_. I had no idea what you were doing.” She turned her head as best she could to the raider. “Seriously. Very few people would be dumb enough to try what she did. And I am not one of those.”

 “It wasn’t _dumb._ It was . . .”  
  
“Empty Jet containers, Nova?” Ayo said. “Empty? Literally nothing inside. Just thought you could hand them over and they’d be fine with it.”

Nova rolled her eyes. “It was a one to forty odds they’d try the wrong canister.”

“Yeah!” Ayo laughed. “Oh yeah one to forty. Great odds. And we all see how well that’s playing out right now!” 

“I need everyone to SHUT THE FUCK UP!” the raider pushed the blade deeper into Ayo’s skin. “Give me a reason to—” He never finished his sentence. Ayo elbowed him in the stomach, hard. 

Nova didn’t hesitate. When he doubled over she shot the raider directly in the head. Before the other two raiders had a moment to process what happened Danse fired on them, and they collapsed down the stairs.

In a matter of minutes the battle was over.

Nova turned to Danse, smiling. “See? Not a problem.”  
  
“Not a _problem_?” Ayo snapped, and marched toward Nova so they were standing chest to chest. She was a head taller than Nova, more muscular and intimidating. If Danse had seen them prior—before he witnessed Nova in action—he would have guessed Ayo to be the one with firepower. She possessed a concentrated fierceness, unlike Nova’s unbridled inhibitions.

“One hour. One. That’s what you said when you left. It’s been seventy-two! And who the hell is _this guy—_ wait a second.” All the anger in her eyes vanished and Ayo slowly regarded the Paladin’s power armor. “You’re—you’re with the Brotherhood. So that means—did you survive the Prydwen? Were you there?”

Nova cautiously glanced at Danse. Clearly, she was worried he might have some kind of outburst again.

“No,” he answered trying to keep his voice leveled. “I was. . . stationed at Listening Post Bravo.” 

Ayo snorted. “Stationed? Or banished? Because I would imagine if you were in good standing with the Brotherhood you’d be back at the Citadel.” She glared at Nova. “He’s not coming with us. If that’s what you’re thinking.”

Danse stared at his feet unable to look either Nova or Ayo in the face. _If you tell them they’ll see you for what you are. And they might kill you._

 _Which is what you deserve, isn’t it_?

“Paladin Danse saved my life,” Nova insisted. “And it’s not like we’re all saints here! If it wasn’t for him I wouldn’t have been able to rescue you." 

Ayo got right her face. “Fuck. You. Nova. I wouldn’t have needed ‘rescuing’ if you hadn’t tried to screw a bunch of raiders out of their Jet. I know honoring a promise means nothing to you but we both agreed before leaving the Mojave it would just be me and you. No one else.”  
  
“Really? No one else? And does a pregnant woman count as no one else?”  
  
“That’s an exception!” Ayo roared.

“And so is my Paladin!” Nova shouted back. “We need him out here, Ayo! We have no idea where we’re going or what we’re doing! He knows the land! He knows—other stuff.”

“Oh so a Paladin of the Brotherhood of motherfucking Steel knows where we can move the rest of our Jet Ultra and get enough money to get Andrea to the Citadel?”  
  
“Actually,” Danse spoke up. “I know exactly where to move your Jet.”

Nova crossed her arms and cocked her brow at Ayo. “Yeah. Actually he _does_.”

“Please don’t act like you had a plan all along,” Ayo sighed, and shouldered past Nova. “I’m going to check on Andrea and the fucking settlers.” On her way out she cast an acidic glance at Danse.

He watched Ayo walk out the door and then turned to Nova. “Pregnant woman?”

“Yeah . . .” she said. “So, remember that time sensitive issue I told you about?”

* * *

 

Danse sat alone on a hill while Nova and Ayo checked on the settlers. He had taken his power armor off giving his body a break from the heaviness. He used to not even notice the weight when he went out in the field. _I must be losing my touch._ _Perhaps it’s time to head back to the bunker,_ he thought. He had been down this road before. Wild adventures in the Commonwealth. Having a partner. Doing things against the code of the Brotherhood.

The best time of his life marred by betrayal.

 _“This is what I have to do. For my son. For his legacy. Why can’t you understand that? After how the Brotherhood treated you I thought . . . I thought we had finally come to an understanding. The Institute created you, Danse.”_

_“We can make you new.”_

“Hey.”

Danse snapped out of his reverie. Nova had sat next to him with Max in tow. Her blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders teased by the wind. She pushed it back a little—for the entire world an innocent teenager. 

“So, there’s a few things I might need to share with you,” she started.

“Nova. . ." 

“I know you want to leave,” Nova said. “I know. I haven’t made any of this easy for you.”  
  
“It’s not that,” Danse assured her. “I thought I was ready to start a new mission. To guide you. But I don’t think I am. Your friend is right. I’ve been banished by the Brotherhood. If I were to go with you to the Citadel you’d never find the answers you’re looking for. Not with me. I’m teaching you lessons that don’t even apply to me anymore. Sarah Lyons was a mighty warrior. If you go to the Citadel the Brotherhood will welcome you. But now if I’m there.”  
  
For a long moment she said nothing. He watched her absently roll a piece of grass between her fingers, anxiously waiting her reply.

“Danse, are you familiar with Caeser’s Legion?”  
  
The hair on the back Danse’s neck bristled. “Yes,” he replied. “They’re a slaver state in the Mojave.”  
  
Nova took a steady breath. “Not long ago they took over Hoover Dam and control of The Strip. They wiped out the NCR and the west coast faction of the Brotherhood. Ayo and I—we were sold as breeders. We escaped with Andrea. The, uh . . . aforementioned pregnant lady. We came here not only to put as much distance between the Legion and us but to warn the Brotherhood . . .they’re coming this way, Danse. At full force. And I believe the have some kind of technology that’s given them an edge.” Nova ripped the blade of grass into tiny pieces. “I thought finding my parents with the Brotherhood would—I don’t know. Give us some kind of leverage. But it looks like we’re doing this on our own. They have to be stopped.”

She looked into his face. He saw, in her eyes, an unyielding fire, waiting to be unleashed. “Danse . . . we need you. Do you understand? Another war is coming.”

Danse stood. He could feel her watching his back intently. “I can take you to Goodneighbor to move your Jet. But my days with war are over. I've lost too much. I’m sorry.”


End file.
